Losing Sleep
by Romanoma
Summary: Love is jealousy, love is fear, love is everything Spain needs and the only thing he has left to give, in the dark, beneath the sheets. Spamano. teen!mano.


_This was meant to be 500 words. orz. No wonder it took me so long to finish it... It didn't do what I was expecting it to do, but I think I'm okay with that. I hope you are, too :)_

**Losing Sleep**

"Go back to sleep", Spain whispers afterwards, war-weathered fingers massaging the bruised protrusion of the boy's naked hip. Soft breath eases past obscenely red lips bruised with passion, wilted curl swaying tiredly. Knitted brow, he stares up at him, eyes shivering with confusion and doubt. Spain can't hold his gaze, squeezing trembling fingers beneath the sheets, apologetic, but not regretful.

Romano looks cautious and unsure. Tears still smudge his cheeks. They break Spain's heart, but he can't help but leave them, dipping to press lips to the salty trail. Romano grumbles, but he doesn't retreat, hesitant fingers skirting over the solid sphere of Spain's shoulder, touch like a practised lover.

_A shaft of moonlight slices the beast in half, blood red silk dribbling into the pool at the bottom of the bed. A slither hides the cumbersome pubescent foot curled in the underlay spotted red, skin pale like Spain wants it to be, the knots of his spine protruding every few, fleeting moments as he pushes and pulls him. Sun-starved, gangly legs sprout around his middle, clinging, flexing, delicately formed thigh muscles twitching with exertion. _

_"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Spain whispers, voice barely a bat of butterfly wings. Greedy hands lift trembling legs higher, dragging the remainder of the boy's decency from beneath the sheets,displaying it; his eyes only, always, forever, only his. Romano mewls, the sharp stab-stab between his legs unlike any agony he has ever known. _

_He grips firm, dark arms and Spain coos, fighting the tug of his hips for a moment to powder kisses over his cheeks, settling on his lips and sinking into him again, swallowing his kittenish cry of pain before he has chance to recover. He's neither brutal nor gentle, but firm and searching, the expert in love-making he is famed to be. _

Spain winces, a coil of self-hatred tightening in his belly. He pulls Romano closer to him, burying his nose in the damp crook of his shoulder. "Please forgive me. Please, please forgive me," he begs, pleads with every sullied breath. It's all he cando, beg and beg and beg.

Romano is still trembling, still twitching, curled feebly around Spain's torso, undone. Spain massages his back, taking disgusted delight in the swell of fat around his hips and his thighs just stretching into the muscular limbs of a man, squeezing and feeling even now, wanting, claiming, owning everything he is.

"I didn't meant to hurt you," he says softly, wine lingering on hot breath like gun powder on his fingertips. Romano shakes his head, understanding far too much for his years, forgiving far too much for Spain's sins. There's no denial of want on his lips, no words of accusation in his throat, only love in his heart.

Fingertips summon goosepimples brushing Spain's neck, following teasing pawprint teethmarks, lightly poking his Adam's apple and sinking into the hollow of his collar where his silver crucifix hangs. A fleeting kiss is pressed to it and then Romano sits up, sheets uncovering bites and bruises as they slip to his legs. Spain swallows the possessive pride he feels, black, tickling beetles in his belly ready to explode from his mouth, snatching his hand back when he reaches out to touch.

"Where are you going?" he demands and then immediately softens, enclosing Romano's hand between both of his. Small and vulnerable Spain seems then, like everything he has is only sand in a timer. Romano shifts awkwardly, back taught as he stretches to relieve himself of the sheets tangled around his legs.

"Need a bath, dammit," he replies. "I'm sticky and my legs are aching."

So matter-of-fact Spain isn't sure if there is even blame on his tongue. "Can I come, too?" he asks, hopeful. Romano sighs and nods, feet jerking from the floor as his toes press against cold tiles. He lays them flat, curling around a bedpost and hoisting himself up.

_Fingers in his hair always sent Romano drifting; so childlike in that respect. Irresistible he is, head hidden in the niche of folded arms and spread flat on his belly. Spain wonders how he left him all those times, mourns the years he missed, grateful now to have come home, relaxing on the drawing room floor, presents from foreign lands spread like a map upon the rug. _

_Not as plump as he once was, Romano has developed into a young man. Spain delights in his still yet rounded thighs , peering from the teasing sanctuary of his lounging shorts. Then he scolds himself for scrutinising him in such an unGodly manner, idly tapping is swinging crucifix._

_But his thighs, soft and pliant, his moonshine rear filling his clothes, skin not as dark as it should be. Spain smiles, pleased to have been the one to take care of this little prince, proud to have nurtured and loved him all this time._

_There's a scar on his neck, half hidden by his hair. Leaning low, eyes flickering in firelight, he risks a peck; then a kiss. And then another, lingering, tasting him on his breath._

_Romano stirs, moaning a complaint. "Francia..." he whispers, mouse-quiet, shuffling to twist his head the other way. Spain stiffens, lifting up, arms stretched either side of his head, mind processing the word, translating eagerly, panic, panic, panic and _jealousy_, just a spark to light the fuel. Spain grips his shoulder, effortlessly throwing him onto his back, Romano's eyes opening in time to see Spain sink to his forearms and push their lips and their hips together._

_He doesn't fight it until the grip on his hair starts to hurt, pain trembling in his throat. Spain leaves him breathless, nudging his knees apart to settle there, fingers greedily devouring fleshy thighs, hoisting them high around his waist. Romano isn't given the chance to think, lips claimed again and thoroughly owned._

Spain hadn't known how much he craved a hot soak. Romano is between his legs, curved over his knees, tidying his toenails. He jumps when Spain's fingertips skirt up is spine, wanting his attention back. He earns a pinched leg. "I've got a sharp object in my hand, you jerk," he states, waving the clippers over his shoulder. Spain plucks them out of his hand, leaning forward to envelop him and drag him back against his chest, clippers clattering to the tiles beside the bath.

His lip turns up as he says, "You said France's name."

Romano responds with a questioning grunt, languidly washing his arms and chest. "Earlier," Spain clarifies, eyes dark. "You said it earlier when you were dozing. I was kissing your neck and you said France's name in your sleep."

"Well," Romano begins, thinking nothing of it. He doesn't recall any dream of that beardy weirdy anyway, "that's what you get for being a pervert who attacks people in their sleep-a-ah-!"

Spain has his head yanked back against his shoulder, hand pressed to his forehead to keep it there. His breath is hot against his ear. When his unoccupied hand slides flat across Romano's abdomen, he gasps, knees rising from the water. "Were you having naughty dreams about my friend France?" he asks, bitter like burnt syrup.

Romano growls, unafraid and unimpressed. "Of course not, you stupid bastard," he says, leaving no room for argument. He's irritated now, cheeks hot. "You fucking idiot, what do you take me for? I let...let you do _that _and you think..."

The words make Spain's grip loosen. His tone simmers to lukewarm, fingers now combing through his hair, tugging knots free. "I know. I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." Guilt again, cold and stomach churning. He doesn't know what's the matter with him, doesn't know when he got this way. He doesn't like it, frightened he'll do something that will make Romano lost to him forever and he has already let so much slip through his fingers.

"Why..." Spain begins, not afraid to ask, but afraid of the answer. He takes a breath, sliding lower in the water, lips brushing Romano's shoulder blade. "Why did you let me?

Romano's wonderfully familiar look of incredulous annoyance has him smiling sheepishly. "You are _unbelievable_," he growls, heavily sinking against him.

_So aroused, Spain trembles, arms barely holding Romano up. His body is grateful when they sink to his bed, luxurious covers thrown haphazardly aside, pillows bouncing haplessly in all directions. Spain spreads him out, discarding clothes, revealing skin; bites, nail -curved welts, ghost-light kisses, fading pink fingerprints, and the shadow of purple prints for the clear light of day. _

_Romano doesn't tell him off for being rough, even when his fingers roughly intrude on his body, searching every inch of him in reach. It's not a careful preparation, but desperate and needy, and no more than few minutes later, Spain is penetrating, nails leaving tell-tale marks on his backside as he makes him his and no one else's. _

"Oof- w-what? Why am I unbelievable?" Spain asks, arms settling around Romano's middle. He picks up the wash cloth, lazily smoothing it over Romano's belly, pleased to watch it quiver and twitch.

"Unbelievably _dense_, I mean," Romano snaps, snatching the cloth off him. He tosses it back in the water. "All this time...all these fucking years and..." Growling, he kicks the cloth clean out of the water, pleased with the soggy flop he hears but doesn't see. "I fucking love you, you damn idiot. I _love _you."

Two of the candles on the windowsill blow out, sinking them into near darkness. Spain's heart swells. The faint peppery scent of night and the fragrance of exotic bath oils twist and dance above the steam.

All of those years missed don't seem to matter anymore, so much time spent alone on the seas, conquering, watching his comrades, his countrymen, his people, dying one after another, war, murder, sickness, age. And none of his achievements, nothing of his crumbling empire, mountains of gold and spoils stained red could ever compare to this, here, now. The moment is perfect, as perfect as anything can and ever will be.

Romano loves him. Forgiving and kind, he loves him.

"I love you, too," Spain replies, his voice shivering with restrained glee. Like the entire world suddenly makes sense, he sinks and smiles, nestling Romano beneath his chin. "...I love you too."

_**Fin~**_


End file.
